


The Great Game

by oh_simone



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, Undercover, unexpected team up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 11:30:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18810007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_simone/pseuds/oh_simone
Summary: Well, this was unexpected, Dottie thought delightedly.In which Dottie and Peggy run into each other at a party and fights break out. But for once, it's not with each other.





	The Great Game

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Thanks to Minty, who is as indefatigable a reader and cheerleader as always.

Well, this was unexpected, Dottie thought delightedly, drinking in the sight of Peggy Carter across the room, decked out in a midnight blue cocktail dress and a red, pageboy wig. The rigid expression of alarm that darted over her carefully made up face only made Dottie smile a bit wider.

“There’s the bastard,” sighed Reg Garfield, weapons dealer, smuggler, decent baccarat player, and Dottie’s mark for the night.

“What’s wrong, honey?” Dottie cooed, never taking her eyes off of Peggy for an instance. To her glee, Peggy seemed increasingly torn—one moment turning away to mutter terse updates to someone, probably one of those insipid SSR agents she was so inexplicably fond of, then glaring daggers at Dottie, then whipping out a brilliant, infatuated smile for the man besides her, who was—oh. Hm.

Dottie nodded sympathetically in time with Garfield’s grumbling, who, for being a big time criminal, was a shocking bore. She couldn’t wait to tranq him on the way back and deliver him to his ex-wife and main business rival.

“Well, come on then, let’s get this fucking over with,” Garfield grunted, and slapped a proprietary hand on her ass, then kept it there as he steered the two of them across the room. Dottie revised her plan—her client expressed a preference for him alive, but would probably take him either or.

At least he was leading them in the proper direction; that is, towards Peggy Carter and her beautiful brown eyes, full of panic and grim warning. Dottie shivered happily.

“Mr. Rochester,” Garfield boomed, and Dottie caught the whiff of intense mutual dislike from both men before they fell into the jovial guffawing and backslapping of ritual male greeting. Dottie tuned out as the men jawed at each other, adopting her pretty-but-bored smile and staring unblinkingly at Peggy who looked as though she were itching to throw her  pearl-studded clutch at her face. Dottie's smile widened.

“And who is this vision?” Rochester finally asked, turning to Dottie. Harold Rochester, Dottie recalled absently. 67 years of age, widower, handsome with well-cut silver hair. Made his fortune in medical technology, with an added side of human experimentation on the side. And, for fun, he fucked little girls. She wondered if Peggy, playing the clinging, simpering date so well, had any idea.

“Paula, Mr. Harold Rochester,” Garfield said, bringing her forward. Dottie giggled and blushed and sparkled at all the right places, playing up the slight Bostonian vowels and allowing the men to peacock the women on their arms. It wasn’t the worst part of the job; Dottie thought she would’ve made an awfully good bourgeois socialite—diamonds dripping from her wrists and ears, a lavishly draped silk gown the shade a perfect match to the imported champagne she sipped. What a shame the dress would be shredded by the end of the evening, now that Peggy had shown up. That woman trailed destructive forces in her wake. Dottie smiled at her, until Peggy turned abruptly to her companion and laid a coquettish hand on his arm.

“Harry,” said Peggy in a nasal mid-Atlantic accent, “I hate to interrupt, but if you’re going to talk business, I’m going to pop out to the little girls’.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Rochester said absently.

“Paula, join me?” Peggy’s voice was sweet, but her grip on Dottie’s arm was like iron. Dottie smiled back and glanced to Garfield, who patted her cheek.

“Go on, baby, make new friends,” he said.

“Don’t miss me too much,” Dottie crooned, and allowed Peggy to tow her out of the ballroom.

The gala for—what was it? Sick children with three arms or some such inanity—was being held in a lavish mansion resort in upstate New York, its stately halls outfitted in gleaming oak wainscoting and French Empire furniture and stately oil paintings of dour, jowly old white men and dead birds.

Peggy yanked her into an empty meeting room that smelled faintly of cigarettes and floor wax. Dottie barely had time to get her bearings before Peggy was glowering in her face.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed. Dottie admired the way the angry flush crested her cheekbones. Battleship Carter was a vision when she was all stirred up.

“Peggy I'm as shocked as you are! This isn't your usual crowd,” Dottie replied, widening her eyes. “Love the hair, by the way.”

Peggy slapped Dottie’s hand away from the wig. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t haul you out the back entrance and throw you in a cell underground,” she said irritably.

“Oh, you’d like that wouldn’t you?” Dottie laughed. “Don’t worry, honey, I think for once, we aren’t in conflict. Unless you’d like to be?”

Peggy pressed her lips into a thin line, and Dottie radiated all-innocence back.

“What are you here for?” Peggy asked shortly.

Dottie rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to tell you why. I like you, Peggy, but I like my reputation as a professional more. If it helps, I had no intention of running into you or your new friend.”

Peggy peered at her suspiciously, and it would have been thrilling, having all that piercing attention on Dottie and only Dottie, if the cause hadn’t been so banal. Slowly, Peggy inclined her head. “Very well,” she said stiffly, and looked away, adjusting her clutch, tugging her skirt.

“What about you? What are you looking for?” Dottie asked, and grinned when Peggy rolled her eyes.

“Goodnight, Dottie,” she said firmly. “We’ll go back together, and you should leave as soon as you are able.”

Dottie watched Peggy make for the door of the room, then at the last possible moment, darted forward and shoved the door closed. “Well, now I am curious, Peggy.” She tilted her head, regarding Peggy consideringly. “I don’t like to toot my own horn, but I’ve always thought I was your one who got away.” Dottie smiled sharply. “Which means that whatever you’re after is bigger than me. I don’t know if I like that.”

“Oh, _honestl_ y,” Peggy snapped. “Believe me, it is far less interesting than you and your massive ego, but rather more time sensitive.”

Dottie smiled, pleased, and cocked her head. “I’m thrilled you admit I do intrigue you, Peggy. I was beginning to feel nervous.”

If looks could kill, Dottie would have already crossed the threshold to Hell.

“Enjoy your freedom while you’re able,” Peggy said curtly. Dottie obligingly retracted her hand and Peggy yanked open the door. She was two steps out before Dottie stuck her head out the doorway.

“By the way, what do you plan on doing about your new sweetheart’s mistress?”

“Not my problem,” Peggy called back.

Dottie hummed thoughtfully. “I figured. I just didn’t think you’d leave a thirteen-year-old in that sort of situation.”

Peggy came to a halt so hard that it was a surprise the rug under her heels didn’t tear. Dottie slid out into the hall and swanned past back towards the ballroom. When Peggy grabbed her forearm as she passed, Dottie paused and gave her a sidelong look.

“What,” Peggy said very quietly.

“You don’t know,” Dottie marveled, affecting surprise. “Really?”

Peggy looked at her sharply, and dropped her grip on Dottie’s arm. “You’re lying.”

“Rumors abound,” Dottie shrugged, but Peggy scoffed.

“Rumors like that don’t stay tethered. My briefing would certainly have included reference to that sort of intelligence. Which means either you’re throwing me off, or you are much closer to this situation than you’ve implied.” She glared at Dottie with increased suspicion.

“Oh, please, like I’m actually interested in the ridiculous cipher or whatever you’re looking for,” Dottie snorted, and noted that her stab in the dark was accurate—Peggy narrowed her eyes at the mention of the cipher, but didn’t otherwise react. “And why would it be so difficult to believe that I, too, have my sources, and they have slightly different insight on what makes that man… tick.” Dottie blinked slowly. It was true— _her_ source had grown up three cots over, and had had first-hand experience with Rochester.

Peggy’s gaze drifted sideways as she listened to whatever was yammering in her ear, and then snapped back to Dottie. “You think there’s a girl here?” she demanded.

Dottie shrugged and ticked off her fingers. “He owns the hotel, has his private suite here, and he’s not due back in the city until Tuesday.” With a little flourish, Dottie gestured: you do the math.

Expression twisting, Peggy looked as if she wished to march right back into the ballroom and kick her date right between the legs. Instead, her jaw firmed and she came to a decision. “Right.” She tapped her ear. “Change of plans. Can you run interference? I need fifteen minutes.” Then she pulled out her comm and stowed it in her clutch, fixed an impatient look on Dottie. “Where is his suite?”

“You can’t be serious; you want me to help you?” Dottie raised an eyebrow, and hissed when Peggy twisted her grip on Dottie’s wrist. It would have been a matter of seconds to free herself, but Dottie was always phenomenally indulgent when it came to Peggy Carter.

“You could go back into that ballroom, but then I’ll follow as well, and tell Mr. Garfield what exactly he has on his arm.”

“And what is that?”

Peggy bared her teeth in a hard smile. “A threat.”

Dottie was not threatened. But she _was_ thrilled and amused, and so she tilted her head and returned the smile. “Well then. I’m all yours.”

 

There were two guards at the entrance of the private elevator. Peggy, stumbling and laughing and clinging to Dottie’s arm flagged them down.

“There it is!” she giggled. “See, Paula, a whole elevator, just for _him!_ Isn’t that just divine?”

“Ladies,” the guard closest to them said, “you can’t be here.”

“How dare you!” Dottie said in outrage, and immediately dissolved into bubbly laughter. “She- she’s the guest of- of- say, what _was_ his name again?”

The first guard rolled his eyes and nodded to his companion, and they both approached the two women. As soon as they were close enough, Dottie rammed her palm up the closest guard’s jaw, snapping his head back, then wrenching him around and yanking him back into a chokehold until he stopped struggling and went limp. Behind her, Peggy dropped her own guard to the floor, having achieved the same purpose but with added property damage. There was a visible dent in the drywall, shaped abstractly like a head.

“Darling, do you know how much more you might accomplish with just an ounce more subtlety?” Dottie ribbed as Peggy fished in the guard’s pocket for keys.

“Shut up and get the elevator,” she shot back, and Dottie smirked.

The ride up was silent; Peggy looked as though she were trying very hard to pretend she was alone in the elevator, and Dottie took advantage of the brief moment of quiet to stare as much as she wanted. For what it was worth, Dottie wasn’t sure what captured her attention about the great Agent Carter either, except that she was an anomaly. A woman who’d had the pampered, gentle life that girls like Dottie could only watch in newsreels, who’d had everything and turned her back on it like none of it mattered, and lived and breathed violence and righteousness as though it were God-given. And Dottie, who didn’t even have a real name to call her own, hated her for all of it, but craved even more to stand beside her, like this, and revel in the heaviness of her dark-eyed gaze.

“What?” Peggy bit out as they ascended to the room.

“Nothing,” Dottie replied sweetly, and slid out the door ahead of Peggy.

 

They found the girl, young as Dottie’d suspected, but dressed in a green wrap dress, hair and lashes curled, lips painted red, a neat pair of heels dangling from her toes as she swung her legs against the counter she’d perched on. Her eyes were wide and shocked as the two women came into the suite, childish in spite of her getup. She’d been eating chocolate covered strawberries, and one fell from her fingers to stain the white carpet pink.

“Who are you?” she demanded, fear warping her lilting voice. “Harry says no one is allowed up here.”

“Sweetheart,” Peggy said, coming forward to look directly in her eyes. She held out a hand. “We’d like to take you home.”

The girl looked torn whether to take Peggy’s hand or scream for security, but Dottie simply reached out and stabbed her with a tranquilizer, and she fell, unconscious, into Peggy’s arms.

“If she’s dead, I’ll have some strong words for you,” Peggy said dryly.

“Add it to your tab. Shake a leg, Peggy, I haven’t got all night,” Dottie chastised, sweeping through the suite and ducking into one of the adjoining rooms that functioned as a small office.

“What are you doing?” Peggy asked, hefting the girl over one shoulder.

“Mmm,” Dottie murmured, glancing through the drawers, and after a careful moment, popping out the false bottom. She palmed the innocuous looking cigarette case there and shut the drawer. “I’m doing you a favor,” she said, and tossed the case containing the cipher at her.

Peggy caught it on reflex and glanced at the cigarette box, then back at Dottie. “What do you want in return?” she asked warily.

Dottie sauntered past and back towards the exit. “It’s a surprise,” she said, just as the elevator dinged open, and a full contingent of security goons unloaded. Smiling, she went ahead to give them a proper welcome.

 

It was barely a challenge—Harold Rochester might have had the money and the means, but he certainly couldn’t spot quality if it bit him in the face. Or, Dottie thought with satisfaction as she stabbed one man with her heel and upended another with the momentum of her kick, they were just that good.

Peggy, with the young girl on the floor behind her, walloped another guard with her fists and sent him crashing into Dottie’s main opponent, sending both sprawling to the floor. Peggy and Dottie exchanged a quick glance and then Peggy turned and scooped up the girl before ducking into the elevator. Dottie reared back; a guard had grabbed her from behind, but she swung her legs up against the wall and shoved, so they went crashing into the opposite corridor wall.

“Come on!” Peggy shouted, and Dottie rolled to her feet, leapt over the prone bodies and skidded towards the closing doors. “Duck!”

As soon as Dottie dropped and rolled hard into the elevator, Peggy sprayed something, and they could hear the scream of agony as the doors finally slid closed and began trundling down towards the lower levels. Dottie remained on the floor, panting lightly, and grinning up at Peggy. She could feel her dress strap slipping down her shoulder, and her smile go a little feral. When Peggy inhaled sharply, but otherwise only tucked away her defensive spray and adjusted the girl’s weight on her shoulder, Dottie let the laughter roll from the pit of her gut and rose to her feet gracefully.

“Well,” she said, admiring the wild tear in her skirt that left her looking rather scandalous. “You sure know how to show a gal a good time.”

Peggy’s mouth twitched as though reluctantly amused. “Shut up, please. This night has gone off the rails enough already, thanks to you,” she sighed as they stepped out onto a lower level service corridor, away from the ballroom and disapproving gala attendees.

Now _that_ was just rude. Dottie whirled her about and pinned her against the wall, and only Peggy’s quick reflexes kept her from slamming the unconscious girl into solid cement.

“Dottie, what—” She cut herself off, eyes large as Dottie crowded against her, close enough that the back of Peggy’s hand that carried the girl pressed against Dottie, a line of heat she could feel on her ribcage through the layers of silk and organza.

“Peggy Carter, I am not the one rushing off to rescue damsels and save the world,” Dottie said, voice low with amusement. “I don’t court trouble.”

Peggy held her gaze boldly, and for the first time that night, seemed to truly see Dottie; her expression turned thoughtful and a little calculating.

“Don’t you?” she smirked after a pause, and Dottie blinked.

That was all Peggy needed to drive her knee up into Dottie’s solar plexus. Dottie wheezed and staggered back as Peggy shook her off.

“Ta, darling, I’ll take it from here,” Peggy called over her shoulder, already stalking down the corridor towards the back entrance, headed towards her getaway team, no doubt.

Dottie watched her leave, felt her heart beat in a joyous giddy rhythm, and laughed again.

She was still smiling after ducking back into the ballroom and slipping back onto Garfield’s arm, smooth as butter.

“Where’d you go, baby?” he asked testily, and then did a double take. “Holy—what happened?”

Dottie moued. “They keep those marble floors so polished, it’s just not right; I broke my heel trying to stay upright, and went down anyways. Honey, I hurt, and I’ve ruined this dress; can we leave now?” Dottie batted her eyelashes, and Garfield acquiesced immediately, a chivalrous arm about her as they wobbled down to the valet.

 

 On the highway, with Garfield out cold in the seat besides her and her foot heavy on the acceleration, Dottie fingered the cigarette case with the cipher and regarded it with amusement before tucking it away. Peggy would come after her soon, so Dottie had better get a head start on this great race of theirs; she couldn’t wait until Peggy caught up.

**Author's Note:**

> fic commentary [here!](https://chouette.dreamwidth.org/145301.html)


End file.
